


Monsieur l'Artiste Paints On The Canvas Of Life

by ApocalypseThen



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Crack, F/F, F/M, Nude Modeling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 17:09:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20450612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApocalypseThen/pseuds/ApocalypseThen
Summary: Monsieur l'Artiste (Garrus) teaches everyone how real art is made.





	Monsieur l'Artiste Paints On The Canvas Of Life

**Author's Note:**

> For a kmeme prompt:
> 
> https://masseffectkink.dreamwidth.org/9443.html?thread=47639267#cmt47639267

"Settle down everyone, please. Settle down."

Garrus Vakarian, or, as Ashley liked to think of him when he doffed his smock and beret, Monsieur l'Artiste, waited for silence. When the students had finished shuffling their chairs and racking their brushes, he continued.

"Today, I want you to look beyond what you see. I want you to see the story, the emotions, the raw feelings, and I want you to put that down on the canvas." He strutted in a tight circle, glaring at each member of the class in turn. "We're lucky to have two sitters today whose stories you may already know from the news. But the news only tells one side of the story. It doesn't tell you about the pain of being alive. It doesn't tell you what life is. It doesn't know joy or hope, despair or anguish."

He paused to eyeball the students before continuing in a low voice, rich with subharmonic expression. "You might wonder, what's the point of depicting suffering in art, when we've all suffered so much?"

The canvas closest to him thrummed visibly. When he spoke again his voice was raised in defiance. "To which I say: what is the purpose of life, if it is not to create art? What else, indeed, makes life worth living? Worth fighting for? Artists: to your canvas!"

He waved his hand in the direction of his two models. Shepard shrugged off her wrap. Ashley followed her lead a moment later.

There were a few audible gasps as the students saw the true extent of Shepard's scars. There wasn't a span of undisturbed flesh bigger than a postcard. Ashley found herself gaping. She'd visited Shepard in the hospital but she'd never known it had been this bad.

Ashley felt a bitter pang guilt. She had nothing worse to show for the war than a concussion that gave her the occasional migraine. Looking at Shepard, she felt like she hadn't paid enough.

Garrus was looking at her like he could read her thoughts. She felt tears well at the corners of her eyes as she held his gaze. Monsieur l'Artiste might be a pompous ass but he saw things nobody else did, including the beauty of Shepard's broken body. He was sleeping with her, after all, and Ashley was glad. And not the least bit jealous, she told herself.

"This one," he said, suddenly close, pointing a slender talon at a modestly-sized ridge of congealed tissue.

"Just a scratch." Shepard didn't even blink. "Mortar fire on Elysium."

"Here," he said, his arm stiff and straight, unwavering.

"Sniper. Through and through. Caleston."

"And here?" His voice softened as the back of his talon made contact with a divot on Shepard's thigh.

"Implant rejection. Crappy Cerberus tech."

Ashley could have heard a pin drop in the silence. If the students were painting they were doing it telepathically.

Monsieur l'Artiste's long claws raked gently across Shepard's back. Ashley saw Shepard's nipples harden and felt the colour rise in her own cheeks.

"This?" he inquired of the long parallel streaks that lined her shoulders.

Shepard growled, a contralto counterpoint to Garrus' bass thrum. "You know damn well," she said in a dangerous voice. "You did that."

Monsieur l'Artiste wasted no further time. He tore through his smock with a theatrical flourish. He was naked underneath, and erect. He dove onto Shepard, who rolled and came up on top. She slid onto him with a practiced ease, shimmying when she reached the knot at the base of his cock. They began fucking in earnest, his growls and her grunts going straight to a full-throated, uninhibited roar of ecstatic coupling.

Ashley didn't know where to look. The students were lapping it up though, holding their brushes up to their eyes, measuring. Were all of his lessons like this, she wondered?

Shepard's screaming drew her gaze back to the scene. It sounded like the most exquisite pain, but Garrus pounded through it, not giving an inch, not making any allowances for Shepard's lack of flexibility.

They were animals, thought Ashley. Complete animals. Her body couldn't fail to respond to the show, though.

Now Shepard was underneath, and Garrus had her bent and twisted while he thrust at her magnificently.

Now they were side-by-side, Garrus's claws raking Shepard's back while she choked him.

Now he was taking her from behind, her arms twisted above her so that she was helpless.

Finally they returned to their original position, and went all out. Dust trickled down from the roof as they tangled and fought and screamed out their twinned ecstasy.

Ashley closed her mouth and wiped the drool from it. Her hand was wet. She'd been frigging herself unconsciously. She didn't know for how long.

The steel in Garrus' eyes retreated and Monsieur l'Artiste rose to address the class. "Brushes down. Turn your canvases around."

Ashley's gaze swept around the circle of rough works. She beheld an explosion of styles and colours. She could see that they had taken Monsieur l'Artiste's instructions to heart, but she was, nevertheless, surprised.

Every student had chosen Ashley as their subject. She saw herself, in turn, guilty, jealous, ashamed, aroused, excited, in awe, and masturbating furiously.

There were several depictions of that last one.

Monsieur l'Artiste and Shepard both held her gaze when she looked at them. Shepard nodded slightly. Ashley put her hand back down between her legs to finish what she'd started.

"Class dismissed," said Monsieur l'Artiste, Garrus, as he and Shepard approached her.


End file.
